The Last Journey
by Nerina Dragonstongue
Summary: Follows the remmants of the Fellowship along their last paths and to their deaths and the ending of those who fought in the Great War. Takes place after Return of the King


A/N I realized that I've had to bend Tolkien fanon a bit for this fic. Originally Rosie dies and Sam leaves for the West. Then Merry goes to Edoras until Eomer dies at which point he and Pippin go to Gondor until their deaths. Legolas and Gimli leave for Valinor after the death of Elessar. I've basically compressed the timeline and changed when Sam leaves for Valinor but have otherwise tried to follow what is written in the appendices. And of course if I owned this I would be much richer and well known than I am.

Leaving the Shire

The late afternoon sun was shining over the Shire. To the west, its fading rays illuminated the Blue Mountains, _Ered Luin _in the Elvish tongue, though few remained that called it suchThe date was September 22nd, by Shire reckoning of course. The Shire was quiet with no sound but the evening song of the birds and the wind in the leaves. The sunlight filtered through the branches of the mallorn tree standing golden in the Party Field. In another part of the Shire, under another tree, sat an old hobbit, enjoying the shade cast by its leaves. A red book lay open on his lap and a quill and inkpot lay next to him, but at the moment they were idle. The hobbit's eyes drooped shut and moments later gentle snores escaped across the meadow.

At the other end of the field a golden haired hobbit stood with her child on one hip. The babe struggled to be let down. Her mother released her and she ran stumbling to the sleeping hobbit crying "Grampa! Grampa!"

The book slipped from his grasp as Samwise Gamgee, retired Mayor of Hobbiton, woke to catch his granddaughter.

"Ho there Rosie-lass." he said, swinging the laughing child overhead. Elanor had followed Rosie, rather more sedately, and bent to pick up the fallen book and cap the inkpot. As she looked at the book her eyebrows lifted.

"Uncle Frodo's book? Were you writing in it?"

"Yes dear Elanor. I've added my bit, what little there was. It is strange to think but the story of the ring-bearers is over." Sam took the book from Elanor and smoothed the cover.

"It belongs to you now Elanor." he said, "You can read it to your children and grand-children and remember me." With a sigh he bent to pick up the quill and ink pot and bgan walking back to the Undertower, home of his daughter and her husband, Warden of the Westmarch.

"You can read it to them though." Elanor's tone was troubled.

"No Elanor. I am leaving the Shire. I never thought I'd wish to but now I understand a bit why Mr. Frodo left. My part in this story has ended. Merry and Pippin have agreed to come with me as far as Rivendell but then they will turn back. I am going to Gondor and from thence… who can know?"

They had reached the Tower Hills and Sam pushed open the familiar round door. He placed the red book in Elanor's hands and picked up Rosie, tossing her in the air and kissing her goodbye. Rummaging on his desk he found a stack of letters, already sealed and addressed which he handed to Elanor.

"These are for everyone. I've tried to avoid too many good-byes. You'll see they get out?"

Elanor nodded, blinking back tears. She had known this parting would come for many weeks. Every since Rosie, Elanor's mother, had died on Midsummer's Night, her father had become more distant. He talked about what Uncle Frodo had said before departing for the West, telling Sam he was needed to be one and whole for many years. That it was not the time to be torn in two. But Sam's time in the Shire had ended and both he and Elanor knew it. Like all ring-bearers before him, the time had come for him to leave the land he had loved for so many years and follow the others out of the Middle Earth.

Sam shouldered his pack. His grey elven cloak, still seemingly new and unworn was slung across his shoulders and his old staff was leaning against the mantle. Taking it up he turned to Elanor "Tell young Frodo he's to live at Bag End." he said, "All the rest can too, that wish it, but I would have one of my children be living at home."

Rosie nodded and Sam opened the door. Settling his shoulders, he gave Elanor a smile and said, "The road goes ever on Elanor-lass and I must follow. But don't be sad. I've had a long life, and a good one and I'll be remembered long after this. And that's more than many can boast of."

Giving his daughter a final embrace, Sam walked away down the road that lead to Buckland. Elanor watched him go, the Red Book and letters in one arm and Rosie in the other.

Sam did not look back as he walked away from his daughter's home. This parting was hard, but without bitterness. Similar was his departure from Bag End two days before. Reluctantly had he wandered its well-known halls and bid farewell his favourite chair before setting out for the Westmarch. Yet he did not regret his leaving. At last he had come to the same realization as Frodo and Bilbo before him. His time in the Shire was over. Now he hummed old walking songs happily as he strode along the familiar paths of his beloved Shire. He was hailed here and there by hobbits young and old, for he was well-known and well-loved. No one thought it was odd to see the grey-haired hobbit abroad, for all knew had had taken to visiting the Thain and the Master of Buckland for days, poring over old maps and papers.

As evening fell over the Shire, Sam turned off the road and made camp under a tall oak tree. He was tired; the journey to Gondor would be long and difficult. But he chuckled as he thought how uncomfortable he had felt, under a very similar tree, so many years ago. Despite the hardships to come, he enjoyed the thought of the journey. All the land from the Western shores to the far Iron Hills of Durin's Folk had been made safe. Few now feared to travel where they willed, be it near or far.

The following days passed slowly as autumn lengthened. Harvest was ending in the Shire and everywhere the fields were gold and green. Sam took his time enjoying his last walks among the many groves and gardens of the Shire. The leaves were turning copper and gold and at night the air was crisp, making the small fire he lit a comfort and necessity. It was almost the end of September when Sam finally reached Tuckburough.

Meriadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland was sitting with his closest friend Peregrin Took, Thain of the Shire, enjoying a pipe of Southfarthing weed when Sam came up the front path. Although aged, both he and Pippin had lost none of the height they had gained in Fangorn and very little of the strength. They were known throughout the Shire and dearly loved for their generosity and spirit.

"Hullo Sam!" said Merry. He jumped up at the sight of his old friend and took Sam's staff and pack.

"Seems you two are always smoking when I come to visit. Have any extra?" Sam pulled out his own pipe and settled down on the doorstep with a grateful sigh.

"You can't mean there's no pipeweed in this heavy bag here?" Pippin asked in astonishment, all the while filling Sam's pipe.

"Of course there is. But mine is never as fine as what you two seem to find. I don't know how you do it, but you always have the best pipeweed in all the Shire." Sam took a long grateful puff at his pipe and stretched out his legs. "Now that's better. This is how a journey should end."

Merry and Pippin resumed smoking and for a time the only activities on the doorstep of Brandy Hall were the blowing of smoke rings and the enjoyment of good Old Toby pipeweed.

After a time, as the sun was sinking in the west, Merry stood up and stretched. "That was excellent." he said, "It's good to have you here Sam."

Sam nodded his thanks and gently packed his pipe away. He and Pippin also stood and Merry led them into the door of Brandy Hall. As they walked down the panelled walls, he spoke of their plans.

"Pip and I have gotten everything ready. Our ponies are waiting in the stable and the bags are packed so all that's left is to be bathed, fed and have a good night's sleep and we shall be off in the morning."

Merry stopped when they reached one of the guest chambers. "This one's for you Sam. I sent and got your things from the Mathom house. They're all in there and packed for you. We'll meet you for dinner in an hour, if you'd care to bathe first."

Sam nodded again and opened the door to his room. As he and Merry were walking away, Pippin turned back and said "Seems just like yesterday we were the conspirators to sneak away with Frodo. Now you're sneaking away with us. Funny how things change but they don't."

The others were silent for a moment until Sam laughed, "You always did get strange after a bit of smoking. Now away with ye, I'm ready for my bath."

Inside the room stood a large tub in one corner, not yet filled with water. On the bed lay two bundles, wrapped in fabric. Sitting down on the bed, Sam opened the smaller one and drew out a glittering mail coat. Sam remembered how after the four hobbits had returned to the Shire and dealt with the ruffians introduced by Saruman in his last bit of mischief, Frodo had given most of his treasures to the Mathom house. One of those treasures was what Sam now held in his hand, Frodo's mithril shirt. While Merry and Pippin enjoyed the glory of which the accoutrements of war reminded them, Frodo said his memories were of things better forgotten. Besides, he had added, there was no need in the Shire to have bright mail lie in the house, gathering dust. Better it remain in the Mathom house. Sam set the mail coat aside and picked up the other package. Carefully unwrapping the bundle, he drew out a graceful short sword. Elvish made, with silver tracery along the blade, it had also been donated to the Mathom house. Three hobbits had born it, against spiders, orcs, goblins and trolls. Sam slid Sting back into its scabbard and laid it next to the mithril shirt. A knock at the door surprised him and he jumped. Hastily rewrapping the two shining objects he called "A moment. I'll be right there."

Puffing slightly, he opened the door to see a small hobbit-child, no more than five years old.

"Master Merry wants to know if you're ready for your bath," the little one said all in a rush. The words had the sound of oft-repeated instructions. "He says if you are then I have to tell Dolfo Hardbottle in the kitchen and if you're not-"

Sam suppressed a smile "I am ready so you'd best run along to Dolfo." The little girl nodded solemnly and scampered off down the hall. Before long two young hobbits arrived at the door bearing buckets of hot water. Moments later, blessing the hobbits' energy, Sam slid into the hot soapy water with a contented sigh.

The next morning the three hobbits met at the stables to begin their journey. The evening before they had feasted together and then spent most of the night smoking, reminiscing and planning. The morning's early departure ensured that none of the adventurers were a good frame of mind. The sun rose, sending brilliant shafts of golden light over the Old Forest, and Merry, Pippin and Sam saddled up their ponies and rode out of the small gate. Merry and Pippin were wearing the armour and arms they had won in Rohan and Gondor and Sam had on the mithril shirt under his shirt and bore Sting at his side. All four were covered by their elven cloaks.

As he rode out of the Shire for the last time, Sam stopped and looked back. Merry and Pippin couldn't hear what he murmured but they wouldn't have understood it even if they had. "You were right Mr. Frodo. We did save the Shire."


End file.
